


What Do We Do Now?

by trash4ficsaboutlurv



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 14:55:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6810028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash4ficsaboutlurv/pseuds/trash4ficsaboutlurv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Sam ponder their next steps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Do We Do Now?

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little nothing I wrote because my WIP is pretending like it's gonna win the fight against me.

“What do we do now?” Sam asks, cradling Steve’s head in his lap. They are lying together on the motel bed, have been for a couple hours with the news on in the background. Sam has been fighting against sleep, but Steve is still tense -- for all that his eyes are closed and he hasn’t said a word. “Steve?” Sam says.

Steve sighs and Sam pushes his hair off his forehead. It’s grown well past regulation length since the prison breakout and Sam hasn’t decided if he likes it yet. He almost laughs at himself. They’re fugitives of the U.N. and the remaining Avengers team, and Sam’s worried about whether he can give a white boy a proper haircut, if the clippers will even catch on Steve’s slippery soft hair. The length isn’t exactly unattractive, just different. But maybe different’s for the best. Long hair is definitely a better disguise than a baseball cap. And Sam has no ambivalent feelings about the beard growing in. The beard is a Good Look. A very good look.

“Steve,” he says, jostling his knee.

Steve frowns. “You decide.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “If it were up to me, we’d move to Costa Rica and grow old together. We’d learn Spanish, I’d work on my breaststroke, and you’d build houses for underprivileged people with your bare hands. I’d watch … But I’ve got a pretty good idea that – you being you and me being the guy who loves you – there are more bullets and explosions and complete nonsense in our future.”

“Me being me?” Steve asks.

Sam leans his head back on the headboard and smiles. “Is this you trying to be indignant or do you really not notice all the punching that happens around you?”

Steve turns his head slightly to look up at Sam. “You sound like Vision. Causality and all that.”

Sam affects an English accent. “Our power invites challenge; challenge, conflict.”

“That was terrible,” Steve snorts. “Peggy would never let you hear the end of it. Was that Australian?”

“You're avoiding the question,” Sam says.

Steve pushes himself up on his elbows. “Did I ever tell you what Wanda made me see? Before…when she—”

“When she put the whammy on you?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, turning over the phrase, “the whammy.” He sits all the way up and turns so he’s facing Sam. “I saw Peggy, young Peggy, my Peggy. And she said, ‘We can go home now, Steve, the war is over.’”

Sam smiles in sad sympathy and Steve continues. “When I came off the ice, I had to learn what I’d missed. Not just the fun stuff, but the real stuff, the hard stuff. And it struck me—the thing that broke my heart – the thing that’s breaking my heart still-- is that the war is never over. Not really. Even if you choose not to fight. Even if you don’t turn on the news or look out your window. It’s happening. The war is never over and home is never home.” He sighs, leans back, and rests his head on Sam’s stomach like he hasn’t dropped the dreariest assessment of heroism in the history of ever.

Sam frowns, annoyed that he doesn’t have any fancy, wise words to take the edge off Steve’s despair. But maybe silence is okay, because Steve’s breath is evening out and he’s finally falling asleep.

Sam stares at the TV across the room as a news reel of the last couple weeks plays on a loop.

 _What do we do now?_ he wonders and he doesn’t have a goddamn clue.


End file.
